


coming of age has come and gone

by inlovewithnight



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Domestic, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mandalorian sex rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: Poe went to a new planet to forget and start over. Din and his son were already there.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Din Djarin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 108
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	coming of age has come and gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



The point where resistance and rebellion were required to shed their mutual carapace and become bureaucracy was, it turned out, where Poe’s ability to deny that he needed a massive career change ended.

He spent two years trying to adjust to the life of a senior advisor to the new Prime Minister of the Emerging Senate (to be replaced by an Established Senate with a more democratic electoral system once things had stabilized further, as laid out in the Articles of the Third Republic). At the two-years-and-three-weeks mark, he resigned his position, shaved his head, and piloted a small shuttle out of the Core Planets and toward the Galactic Rim.

En route, he grew a beard, which he was startled to find came in as salt-and-pepper as his hair returned. He replaced his tailored suits and caftans with baggy coveralls and form-fitting underpieces purchased at questionable space station clothing kiosks. (To clarify, both the stations and the kiosks were questionable. As was the provenance of the clothing.)

Three months after fleeing, he landed his shuttle on Kasaja IX, a destination he had chosen after hearing the name mentioned at one of the questionable space stations as “a place a man could disappear.” Then, after a long pause, that was amended to “Well. A man, or anything else. Don’t look at me like that, Xrysshx.”

Xrysshx, an insectoid being whose precise planet of origin and species Poe couldn’t recall offhand, was clearly deeply offended by his human compatriot’s error. Poe moved on quickly, before the disagreement turned violent. But the planet’s name, and the idea, stuck in his head.

A place to disappear.

**

Kasaja IX was a pleasant, temperate planet. The main city was bounded by flat plains to the north, where nothing grew due to poor soil quality, and rocky, unstable terrain to the south, which was blessed with a slow-replenishing underground mineral fuel source that settled the planet’s economy into an eternal boom-bust cycle that the traditional government had stabilized through sheer force of will and mandatory resource savings during boom years, which were then paid out during the bust at highly controlled rates. The Empire had smashed the government and stripped the planet to its bones; the First Order had never gotten around to looking in on it again, though doubtlessly it was number seventy-two on some agenda, somewhere.

Enough time had passed that the minerals had restored themselves, and the planet’s population had reconstructed their old ways. Poe admired them. He’d seen so many planets that had been beaten so brutally that they couldn’t get back up again, and so many others whose pain made them turn toward militarism in an effort at self-protection, and still others who had been destroyed to lifeless, dusty soil or wiped from existence altogether. ( _Leia, forever mourning Alderaan._ )

It wasn’t painful for him to be on Kasaja, was the point. He could believe that his work and the work of the Resistance had bought this place the time it needed to recover itself. 

He rented a small house in the main city. He routed all correspondence from the Third Republic to a droid assistant he set up in an entirely separate apartment, on the other side of town. And he settled in to live the life of a slightly debauched retiree at 35 years old. Maybe he would write a book, when he finished the first burst of debauchery. 

After a month, he bought a set of supplies and taught himself to paint.

Another month after that, on the first day of the rainy season, he walked into a café and tripped over a knee-high, green-skinned, pointy-eared child, whose response to being tripped over was to scream like it had been scalded.

Poe hadn’t had a blaster shoved in his face in _years_. He probably owed the child’s guardian thanks for getting his pulse going again.

**

Din Djarin, child-guardian, blaster owner, and Mandalorian, was mollified by Poe’s abject apologies and purchase of drinks and pastries for all three of them. The child was mollified by the pastries and, in short order, had decided that Poe was a dear friend who could not possibly be allowed out of sight without more screaming.

“I’m sorry,” Din sighed. “He’s going through a rapid growth period, sort of like human adolescence but earlier in the development cycle. His species basically has two separate adolescent periods. It’s awful. He is my son, the light of my life, and the living proof of my clan, and I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.”

The child narrowed his eyes at his father, ears curling at the tips in a distinctly petulant way. Poe quickly produced a piece of candy from his pocket, which was accepted as a peace offering. Bribery was a universal constant of child rearing, Poe firmly believed.

“So what brought you to Kasaja?” Poe asked, sipping his drink. Din, of course, was drinking his beverage through a straw that could poke up under his helmet. It looked absurd. Poe found it charming.

“There is a group of my people here who are able to live in peace with an arrangement with the Kasajan government.” Din took a delicate slurp of his drink. “We provide guards for the mines, and also train cohorts of native Kasajan guards.”

“So you’re setting yourselves up to be replaced.”

“We have been assured that work will be provided for us for as long as our people choose to remain here.” Din paused for a long moment, then sighed, inclining his head. “But we have been betrayed before.” 

Poe wasn’t the type to push on wounds unless he had to; he deftly chose a new direction, offering the child a quick smile. “And what does this one do while you’re working?”

“He studies with the rest of the _ade_ at the home we’ve built for our people.” Din reached over and brushed some pastry crumbs from the child’s chin, which earned an indignant squeak, followed by the child boosting himself up and walking across the table to settle in his father’s lap. “He is a quick learner. Already very good with a bow staff and at stellar navigation.”

“Impressive. You must be very proud.”

“I am. Thank you.” Din bounced the child on his knee for a moment. “What about you? What brought you to Kasaja?”

Poe blinked into his cup for a moment. It was nearly empty, and the dregs had nothing to offer that might help him.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I suppose I didn’t have anywhere better to go.”

“Perhaps the universe guided you here for a purpose,” Din said. Poe ran the sentence through his mind up one way and down another, trying to find sarcasm in it, but came up empty. Perhaps Mandalorian training didn’t allow for such a thing.

The child looked at him from his father’s lap, curled the tips of his ears again, and uttered an earsplitting whine. Din sighed. “He would like some more candy.”

Poe immediately produced another piece from his pocket. Making a child smile was better than pondering the universe’s plans, any day, anywhere.

**

They exchanged contact information before leaving the shop, but Poe didn’t expect to actually hear from him. A man who worked in the mines, training Kasajans to guard their precious resources when he wasn’t guarding them himself, and raising an extremely sensitive child when he wasn’t doing _that_ , was unlikely to have much time to chat with disaffected near-strangers.

But a few nights later, his comms panel lit up, distracting him from his admittedly halfhearted efforts to paint his memory of the landscape of Ajan Kloss. The screen showed a Mandalorian helmet, with the stylized skull of a mudhorn that Poe recognized as Din’s signet. He tossed his brush down and hurried over to accept the call, dragging his free hand through his curls.

“Dameron?” Din’s voice was hollow in his helmet, but Poe was pretty sure he could hear some pleasure there. “I’m glad I reached you. It’s Din Djarin.”

“I know.” Poe smiled at the camera, dropping into the chair he kept by the panel for when he used it to keep up with what was going on in the Third Republic without him. “I was hoping to hear from you. How is your son?”

“He’s well, thank you for asking.” Poe hadn’t researched Mandalorian culture or anything, but it just made sense that a formal, tradition-bound people would appreciate polite enquiries about family members up front, especially ones that the enquiring party had met. “He knocked a katta-fly out of the air at bow staff practice today.”

“Good for him.”

“Then he ate it.” Din laughed softly. “Which was not the purpose of the lesson, but it was late in the day, and he does get hungry.”

“I’ll get a fresh bag of candy for the next time I see him,” Poe said, without really thinking, but it made the Mandalorian sit up a bit straighter, and his voice brighten as he spoke again.

“Oh, you’d like to meet again?”

“Of course, if it’s not any trouble for you.” Poe hadn’t realized quite how much he _did_ want to meet again until the very moment Din asked him. How strange. 

He wasn’t going to be tricked into believing in the universe having any kind of plan anymore, though. The Force was real, but it didn’t have a destiny in mind. It just flowed and glowed along, causing people you once thought you knew well to run off in search of personal enlightenment and leave you behind.

“Have you been to the Blue Princess’ Gardens?” Din asked, pulling Poe back to the present. “They survived the occupation nearly intact and have been restored beautifully where needed. My son enjoys them very much, there’s room to run and play among the trees, which makes it worth being told to stay out of the flowers.”

“My guess would be that there are bugs to eat, too, right?” 

Din laughed softly again, nodding. “You understand him already.”

“Is he there now?” It was quite late in the evening, and Poe couldn’t imagine the children would still be in classes, but who knew how a Mandalorian daily schedule might go?

“He is playing in the bath.” Din turned his head to the side, looking at something offscreen. “I left the door open so I can hear him.”

“I’m sure when he’s done playing he’ll let you know it.”

“Absolutely. At the top of his lungs.” Poe thought that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to be able to tell when Din was smiling, even though he couldn’t see it. “When are you free to visit the Gardens? I have the next two days off, and the _ade_ are allowed to miss training occasionally for a clan outing.”

“I have nothing but time, my friend. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“So it shall be. I will send you a chronometer appointment.” Now Poe was sure that Din was smiling. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Poe sat by the comms panel for a few moments, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings in his head and gut, before giving it up as a bad job and moving back to consider his canvas. The painting was more or less technically correct, but there was no life to it; if he was honest, that matched how he felt when he thought about Ajan Kloss now. Only weariness. 

“Maybe it’s not time to look back yet,” he said aloud, taking the canvas from the easel and propping it against the wall. “Guess I’ll try looking forward.”

**

When he picked up his brush again, the day after the trip to the Gardens, the task was much easier. His hand moved quickly, joyfully, sketching in the greens and blues and vibrant reds of the plantings, then adding in the blurred-in-motion shape of Din’s son, racing down a grassy boulevard in hot pursuit of a lizard.

“I have a gift for you,” he messaged Din when it was finished and sealed. “A token of appreciation for our friendship.”

“I also wish to honor this,” came the reply almost immediately. “Please come to dinner at the Mandalorian House. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Poe said, and smiled as the chronometer appointment appeared almost immediately. It was fortunate that Din was so committed to sending those; one of Poe’s petty little personal rebellions, in the aftermath of his career, was to avoid offering a specific time for anything. _In the afternoon_ , or _tomorrow evening_. Always preserving a route of escape. Maybe Din had noticed that and offered the appointments accordingly; maybe it was just part of who he was. Punctuality and precision might be Mandalorian things, like helmets and being absolutely terrible at navigating a jetpack.

He wrapped the painting to take to the Mandalorian House. “It’s really nothing special,” he said as he handed it to Din. “Just a modest token of appreciation, as I said.”

“No gift should be denigrated.” Din held the package for a moment, then placed it on a much-abused sofa that clearly had a partial career as the base of the child’s games. “But first we will eat.”

“That means I’m getting my gift first. That’s hardly fair.”

“Nourishment of a guest comes first. This is the Way.”

Din’s utter seriousness in proclaiming things the Way was one of Poe’s most ridiculous favorite things. “In that case, lead on. We can’t go against the Way.”

“Exactly.” Din led Poe to the dining nook, where the table also bore signs of the child’s impact. Poe frowned as he took his seat, the level of _quiet_ in Din’s rooms finally settling in his mind.

“Where is the little one?”

“Sleeping over with a friend.” Din placed a glass of something faintly green and frothy in front of Poe. “I thought you might enjoy an evening with more adult conversation and less flinging of toys. If not, my apologies, but… _I_ would enjoy that, very much.”

Poe laughed and saluted him with the drink. “Understandable. Please, drink with me. It is _my_ way not to drink alone.”

Din hesitated a moment, then nodded and went to the kitchen, returning with his own glass and a straw. After they both sipped, he retreated again, returning with a bowl of stew and a platter of flat bread. “I already ate,” he said, “because of the particular restrictions of the Way. I hope you’re not offended.”

“Of course.” Poe tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in the stew, breathing deeply in pleasure at the scent before he allowed himself to taste. “That means you’ll have to carry the conversation, though.”

“That is not my strong point.”

“Aw, buddy.” Poe made his most earnest, firing-up-new-recruits face. “I believe in you.”

Din cocked his head. “I could recite the formal history of Mandalore, I suppose.” 

“Absolutely not.” Poe took another bite and pointed at him. “I want to hear about you.”

Din sighed deeply, but Poe felt the now-familiar flash of certainty that he was smiling behind his helmet. “All right. Out of hospitality to a guest.”

“Damn right.” Poe grinned and settled in.

**

After dinner, they sat on the couch together, and Din unwrapped the painting. He stared at it in silence for what felt like a very long time, and Poe abruptly remembered that he hadn’t actually known this man for very long, that his skill in painting was best described as amateur, and that this gift was both embarrassing and presumptuous.

“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat. “You don’t have to…”

“This is a gift of great honor,” Din said quietly. 

“It’s not much.”

“I can see the affection that you have for my son. I can see his joy in the time the three of us spent together at the Gardens. I will never look at this without remembering that afternoon’s happiness.” Din stood and carried the painting over a high chest of drawers, setting it on top with great care—out of the child’s reach, Poe realized after a puzzled moment. “I need to have this treated properly so it won’t be damaged, and then hang it where I will see it every day.” 

He turned and looked at Poe again, and Poe felt a flash of heat go through him. Din wasn’t smiling behind the helmet this time, he didn’t think—but he was very sure that if he could see Din’s face, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“Thank you, Poe Dameron,” Din said quietly. 

“It’s nothing,” Poe said, his voice faint and rough to his own ears. “But you’re welcome.”

They stared at each other for another long moment, before Poe managed to get control of himself again. “Please,” he said, gesturing at the space next to him on the couch. “Sit down. We have all night. We can talk about whatever you want. It can be my turn to talk about myself. You can tell that story of Mandalore. Whatever. Let’s just…”

“Unfortunately,” Din said, his voice as rough as Poe’s own, “I don’t want to sit down and talk with you.”

Poe’s heart jumped—he didn’t think of himself as a _vain_ man, per se, but generally that tone of voice had only been directed at him shortly before events advanced in the direction of the amorous. “I could be convinced not to talk.”

Din held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing his armor or gloves, only the helmet, and Poe was surprised by how soft the skin of his palms was. There were scars, of course—old burns, ridges where the skin had been cut and healed again, cryptic little marks—but the day-to-day work of a Mandalorian’s life took place wrapped in protective layers, allowing vulnerability underneath.

Poe followed him down the hall to his sleeping quarters, which were unsurprisingly utilitarian: a bed, a weapons rack, a comms terminal and computer station, a chest of drawers. Din stopped at the chest and let go of Poe’s hand, opening the top drawer and producing a folded blanket and a bundle of silk. 

“I can’t allow you to see my face,” he said, “but I also don’t want to knock you unconscious by moving my head too quickly. The usual solution to the problem is a silk mask with a blindfold and a kind of thick netting over the rest of the face. Is this acceptable to you?”

Poe blinked. “Wait, which one of us is being blindfolded? You or me?”

Din paused, tilting his head. “Well... whichever you prefer, I suppose. Either way you can’t see my face.”

“Not to scare you, but I’m a bit of a connoisseur of blindfolds.” Poe held his hand out. “I’ll wear the mask.”

Din fit it carefully over his face; there was a padded piece to go over the eyes, on a strip that tied behind Poe’s head. The rest, as Din had said, was thick strips woven loosely together and also tied behind the head. It was easy to breathe through, but obscured the facial features almost entirely, without giving the impression of having a sack tied over his head. 

“I am impressed by your people’s bedroom ingenuity,” he said, turning in a slow circle and testing if any light could make it through the mask. Not a bit. 

“We’re powerfully motivated,” Din said. Poe could hear him moving, the soft click of the catches holding his helmet close, and then a clunk as it was set on the table. “You’re still all right with this?”

“Extremely.” Poe held his hands out, grinning behind the mask as Din took them in his own. He rubbed his thumbs in slow arcs over Din’s knuckles, finding the scars and marks he’d noted before by touch this time. Relaxing into the absence of sight made him want to smell, taste, touch. He wanted to lick Din everywhere. He wanted to find every bump and ridge of bone. He wanted to bury his face in every place that might grow heavy with sweat and breathe in until he was dizzy.

Din guided him to the bed. It wasn’t very big—maybe twice as wide as the bunks Poe remembered from his early days on hastily rigged-up Resistance transports, and no longer. “Just a minute,” Din said, and Poe obediently went still, feeling a soft movement of air and hearing a rustle that it took him a moment to realize was Din shaking out the blanket he’d taken from the drawer.

“Is this a special seduction blanket?” he asked. “Like the mask?”

Din paused for what felt like a long time, then settled his hands on Poe’s hips and steered him onto the bed. “Yes, but when you phrase it that way it sounds strange. It’s just more comfortable than my usual bedding. More... luxurious, I suppose.”

It was, indeed, very soft, and knitted or woven in a light and airy way that felt good against Poe’s skin, where he could feel it. Which wasn’t nearly enough. “I have too many clothes on. Shouldn’t I do something about that?”

“Don’t be so impatient.” The bed creaked as Din shifted his weight, and then Poe could feel the heat and mass of his body stretched out over Poe’s own, and _then_ , by the grace of whatever part of the Force might still take an interest in Poe Dameron, Din’s mouth pressed to his.

Whether Mandalorians as a group or just Din, personally, raised kissing to an art form, Poe couldn’t possibly say. All that mattered was that Din, personally, in this moment, was very, very good at it, and Poe’s carefully grown and artfully assembled shell of cynicism and standoffishness was rapidly crumbling under the pressure.

Din lay on top of him and kissed him for a very long time. Any effort to keep track of how long, or to move things forward, or to change up the gentle, inexorable pressure of it was gently shrugged aside until it dissolved in Poe’s head, running down his spine like water and getting lost in what he assumed was the darkness of the room. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe every light was blazing and he just couldn’t see it from behind his mask. It didn’t matter, though. The mask was there, carving him out a safe dark little space to hide in, where his bare and exposed self was as hidden as any Mandalorian’s. 

He saw the appeal of the helmets now. He should have been wearing one all along. From childhood, maybe. Definitely from the day he joined the Resistance and started throwing too many feelings around.

Din sighed deeply against his mouth. “You’re still _thinking_.”

“I am.” Poe nodded, the silk strips falling over his mouth. “Sorry. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“I’ll have to work harder.” Din pulled back, his weight no longer on Poe’s chest, and Poe was shocked at his own sense of loss. He’d never had any particular feelings about being held down or pinned. But that wasn’t what it had felt like, exactly, either. It was more that Din was just... with him, before, and now he wasn’t.

He was definitely still thinking.

Din’s finger drew carefully across his face, adjusting the silk so it wasn’t blocking his mouth anymore. Instead of kissing him, though, Din began to unbutton Poe’s shirt, moving slowly down his chest and torso until a strip was bared all the way to his trousers.

“Naked?” Poe said hopefully.

“Be patient.” Din pushed the sides of the shirt apart like he was opening a ripe fruit. Then his mouth followed the same path downward as his hands, tracing from the delicate skin at the dip of Poe’s collarbone, to the flat of his sternum, and onward to press over his navel, tongue flicking gently at the trail of hair beneath it.

“This is not the sex of a repressed culture,” Poe said, addressing the empty space of the room more than Din himself. He got a laugh anyway.

“There’s a difference between repression and believing that everything should be kept to its proper place.” Din pushed Poe’s shirt off his shoulders, then pressed his mouth over his throat, the tendon joining his shoulder to his neck, the shoulder cap, the bicep, first on one side and then the other. “Nobody ever bothers to ask.”

“Lesson very much learned.” Poe arched up off the bed, trying to present himself to Din’s mouth. “I’m officially asking you to take your time.” 

“I will.” Din traced his fingers over the soft skin of Poe’s torso, fanning the delicate dark hairs. “I intend to explore every part of you thoroughly.”

He was true to his word. By the time Poe was fully naked, his nervous system was humming on the edge of overstimulation. Din was diligent and delicate, fingers and lips and tongue and just the edge of his teeth moving over Poe’s skin everywhere except where he wanted it most. Poe would’ve sworn in front of the Senate that he could feel his most sensitive erogenous zones _glowing_ with pleasure. His body was slick with sweat, his pulse throbbing, and he still couldn’t see a damn thing from behind the elaborate Mandalorian sex mask.

“How do you feel?” Din asked. He was straddling Poe’s thighs, still dressed in the loose tunic and trousers that served as Mandalorian home wear. Poe wished he could see the face that went with that voice. It was probably very sexy. Very intent. Hot eyes, flushed skin, wet lips. Maybe Din was sweating, too, drips running down from his hairline to his cheekbone, where he could brush them aside so casually, eyes never leaving Poe…

“You’re killing me,” Poe said, remembering he’d been asked a question. “Please don’t stop.”

“I need some guidance.” Din settled his palm over Poe’s cock where it was curved up against his stomach. “How do you prefer to be brought to orgasm?”

Maybe it was the hand on his dick, maybe it was the heat of Din’s voice, but somehow that absurdly clinical phrasing did _not_ make Poe want to laugh at all. “Oh.” He swallowed hard, clenching his hands into fists in the blanket. “I’m… flexible. Very flexible. What’s, uh, what’s your favorite?”

Din rubbed his hand slowly up and down Poe’s length. “I think I would very much enjoy pleasuring you with my mouth.”

“No objections,” Poe said immediately. “Please. I’ll beg as much as you’d like.”

“No need to beg.” The bed creaked as Din shifted down between Poe’s legs and guided his thighs up over his shoulders. “But feel free to be vocal.” 

Poe did as he was told. It turned out that sex with a person who took his public meals through straws had its benefits.

Din swallowed him down, then braced himself over Poe’s body again, hands rubbing in slow, soothing strokes over Poe’s chest and shoulders. “May I request my own method of orgasm?”

“Is this part of the Way?” Poe asked, his voice hoarse. “Being really formal about sex? Because I wouldn’t have expected that to work for me, but it really, really is.”

“Not the Way, no.” Din’s thumb circled Poe’s nipple, making his hips jerk helplessly. “But it’s the blueprint for all of our erotic poetry and literature.”

“Mandalorian sex parties must be incredible.” Poe felt around until he found Din’s thighs, solid and muscular enough to crush his head, and rubbed them gently. “Yes, request away, I can’t think of anything I would say no to, honestly.”

“I would greatly enjoy if I could manually finish myself on your chest and torso.”

Poe blinked behind the mask. “You don’t want me to do anything?”

“Continuing to lie there and be beautiful would be perfect, if you’re all right with it.”

Poe didn’t consider himself vain, exactly, but who wouldn’t preen about having someone say something like that? “I think I can do that. Yes. Please, enjoy yourself.”

His only regret was that he couldn’t _see_ Din straddling him and bringing himself off. He wanted to see that cock; it was absolutely magnificent in his imagination, but so far everything Din had done had _exceeded_ his imagination, so… well. He wanted to see the cock. He wanted to see Din’s body, to admire the muscles he had felt shifting under his hands. He could absolutely respect the rules about not seeing Din’s face, but being deprived of the rest of him was just cruel. 

He licked his lips, listening to the slide of Din’s palm over his cock, the little grunts and sighs that Din made as he got closer. “Next time we do this… is it fair to assume there will be a next time?”

“I would be honored,” Din said, voice strained. 

“So would I. Okay. Next time we do this, can you wear the sex mask, so I can have a chance to worship _your_ body?”

“That’s fair. Oh.” Poe felt Din’s body shudder, thighs clenching under Poe’s hands as he neared the edge. “Yes, next time I… I’ll wear the mask… _oh_.”

Poe felt the hot splatter over his chest and threw his head back, arching up again to show off as Din moaned softly in release. 

“You’re exquisite,” Din said softly. “Thank you for allowing me to share this with you.”

“Thank _you_.” Poe reached for him, clumsily catching his hands and pulling him forward for a kiss. “Can I stay the night if I keep the mask on?”

Din smiled against his mouth, adjusting the silk so they could kiss more deeply without it catching. “Please do.”

**

Din’s son arrived home while Din was in the shower the next morning. He skidded to a stop just inside the door, staring at Poe with wide, startled eyes.

“Hey, kiddo.” Poe held out a toy he’d found tucked in the cabinet with Din’s pots and pans while he was rummaging through the cupboards. “Your dad’s in the shower, but he’ll be right out. You want to help me make breakfast for him?”

That seemed to satisfy any suspicions the child had. He snatched the toy and trilled at Poe, then ran off toward the kitchen. 

Poe followed, smiling. If he wasn’t careful, he could get used to this.


End file.
